Harry Potter stared up at the brick townhouse with a bit of trepidation. His godfather, Sirius Black, was already bounding up the few steps to the door and pushing his way inside.

“Are you sure this is alright?” He asked, not for the first time that evening.

Remus Lupin clapped Harry lightly on the back, obviously waiting for Harry to precede him. “It’ll be fine. You’ll have fun. Severus knows to expect you, and it really is fun as long as you’re with the right group.”

A few of the choicer phrases the Dursleys had used to describe Dungeons and Dragons, and all the books and movies and games like it, came to mind. “Brain-rotting” had been perhaps the nicest, leading up to claims that it was all thinly-veiled Devil worship. Like all the other things the Dursleys had told Harry over the many years he’d lived with them, Harry quickly discarded that as complete rubbish and started up the steps.

The house was nicer inside than he’d expected. He vaguely mentioned Remus saying that their host – their Game Master or Dungeon Keeper or whatever it was called – was a professor at the university, though Harry’d yet to have a class with him despite being in the same department. Apparently Severus Snape taught the advanced classes, so he had at least another year before he’d have the chance to. According to Sirius, he was lucky in that regards.